


Your role

by therune



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therune/pseuds/therune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>originally written for the kink meme: <br/>Harry may die, Eggsy may die, but there will always be Galahad. James may die, Roxy may die, but there will always be Lancelot.</p><p>The knights are archetypes, and slowly the people bearing their mantle change - it's not noticeable with Eggsy, because he embraces Harry's mannerisms, but Roxy slowly becomes more and more Lancelot. It's the same with all of them,</p><p>Make it cracky, make it creepy</p><p> </p><p>...I made it creepy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your role

Roxy notices that something is off after 4 years as a Kingsman. Actually, it's not her that realizes but her older sister. She has gone home for christmas.   
At christmas dinner, she not only accepts the offered pudding but asks for seconds.  
"Funny, you didn't use to like it."  
Her sister laughs it off, her father says something about age-refined tastebuds and her mother is proud of her cooking.  
Roxy is confused. She hates pudding, always has, always will.

She doesn't think much of it.  
Back at Kingsman she runs into Galahad. Eggsy has taken to the mantle like a fish to water. She didn't knew Harry very well, only saw him a couple of times. Almost everything she knows comes from the stories Eggsy told her.  
"Bit haunting, isn't it?" Percival says to her as they watch Eggsy get into the shuttle and leave. "He looks so much like Harry, whenever I look at him, it's like I can see Harry."  
She chalks it up to Eggsy missing Harry so much, wanting to make him proud so bad, that he is subconsciously molding himself in his image. Whatever helps him cope.

She catches herself laughing at a joke Tristan told her about his time undercover in soviet Russia. This laugh is big, a proper guffaw. Her feet are lying on the table, hands crossed behind her head. Tristan leaves, she chuckles and it's as if someone poured cold water over her.  
That's not her laughter.

The next time Eggsy displays one of the mannerisms he picked up, what he used to call his posh act, Roxy laughs - again, why is it so big? - and says "Great story, innit bruv?" in the exact intonation Eggsy would have used. But Galahad wrinkles his brow, says "quite" and continues the conversation. No trace of a wink. Of this being a joke. She looks at Eggsy and sees a stranger. No, not a stranger. Galahad.

She is going crazy, craving a pickle sandwich she hates, thirsting for whiskey she never cared for, being loud when she has been quiet all her life.

In 2023 she breaks into Merlin's lair. She pulls streams from years ago. Watches the old Lancelot through other's glasses. Watching the old Galahad. Watches through Harry Hart's eyes as he talks to the old Lancelot. Watching Galahad through Lancelot's eyes.   
It's Eggsy, she thinks. Perfect mimicry. And then Lancelot laughs, and it's her laugh that is not hers. Listens to a snippet, Lancelot confessing that he'd murder for the whiskey she wants and hates.

The lights flicker on.  
"Lancelot." Merlin adresses her.  
"I'm going crazy," she says to her old friend, ready to break down.

"Nonsense, my dear. It's change. Men are mortal. Kingsman are forever."  
He pulls up a few pictures on his holo-screen.  
A young man with a shy smile, unruly hair, and upper shirt buttons undone.  
A middle aged man with a large grin in a tuxedo.  
A woman who looks like she stepped out of a party in the 1920s. Then another set of pictures. Three figures, with neatly gelled hair, immaculate suit and umbrella in their hand. Taking years apart, but still...  
She's looking at Galahad.  
That young man...  
"That was Harry, when he first joined. Never cared too much for neatness, shy boy, wrote poetry in his spare time. None of which are things Galahad does."  
Another set, three men.  
A large, stone-faced man. A man with a shaved head in his uniform. A man with a ponytail in bell-bottomed trousers.  
In the next, there are three men in a checkered suit, leaning into a wall, legs crossed.  
"This is Lancelot."  
They have the same expression. The same tilt to their head. The same cocked hip.  
She same she has now.

"I want to ask how, or why."  
"I have no answer for either, Roxy."  
No one has called her Roxy in years. Or did she prefer Roxanne?

No.

She prefers Lancelot.


End file.
